


After The Storm

by Brihna



Series: The 00Q Playlist [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Aftermath of Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, James Bond Has Feelings, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brihna/pseuds/Brihna
Summary: A summer storm, a sleepless night, and an unexpected guest have Q working through some things he has not yet allowed himself to face. Who says anyone at Six has good coping skills?
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: The 00Q Playlist [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983289
Comments: 14
Kudos: 231





	After The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, it's been like a year since I've posted. Again. The other night I finally decided to just sit down with my notebook and see what happens. I was listening to some rain sounds for white noise and this is what evolved. I feel a little rusty, but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Song by Mumford & Sons.

Rain cascades down the large picture window, threatening to overflow the storm drains in the street below. A few stuttering flashes illuminate the room, thunder following a few seconds behind, leaving an echo through the flat. Pascal and Turing hate storms. They’ve taken refuge in their little cubbies beneath the cat tree in the living room and will surely not emerge until all is quiet. So much for having company on another sleepless night.

Q turns to read the clock on the nightstand. Just after 2AM. He stares at the ceiling as another flash illuminates the room. He can feel the electricity in the air. He tries to think about anything else.

A chill creeps into his bones and he pulls the blankets tighter around his frame. His shoulder aches with the movement, but he curls onto that side anyway. His heart is racing again and he hates it. He throws off the covers and sets his feet on the floor.

He doesn’t bother with the lights as he steps into the hall, though a part of him is desperate to illuminate every shadow. The thought is swiftly snuffed out before it can grow into a flame.

There is another flash as he turns a corner and the resounding boom comes sooner this time. He thinks he sees a silhouette while the room is brightly lit and for a moment he stops breathing.

_You’re imagining things. None of the alarms have gone off._

Still, he finds himself reaching for the Walther in the drawer of the end table that sits against the wall. In less than a second, he has turned 180 degrees with the weapon raised. Three green dots illuminate a steady hand. A light switch flicks on at the other end of the room. He exhales sharply. “Fucking hell, Bond.”

Those blue eyes are sharp even in the dim lamplight. “Evening, Q.” His gaze flicks to the weapon held loosely at his side before returning to scrutinize his face. “Did you miss me?”

Q has already turned his back, returning the gun to its usual hiding place. He carefully composes his features before turning to face him with an air of boredom. “Yes, how could I stand to go so long without you breaking into my flat?”

James smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that would be endearing if the man wasn’t so terribly infuriating. “Well, you know how I like to keep you on your toes. Your security could use a bit of work.”

Q tries to ignore the way his heart flipflops in his chest. Instead he heaves a long-suffering sigh as he moves to step past him. “Tea or coffee?” he says. “Since I assume you intend to hang around for a while.”

A calloused hand catches his wrist, the firm but surprisingly gentle grip catching him off guard. “Tell me what happened,” urges the warm breath in his ear.

Q’s heart is in his throat and he knows that the fingers curled around his wrist must feel the quickening of his pulse. “What does it matter?” he answers once he finds his voice again. “Anyway, you weren’t here.” That last bit was irrelevant and he immediately regrets opening his mouth. The grip on his wrist tightens as he tries to pull away, another hand coming to rest on his hip. The contact practically burns through to his skin.

They’re standing almost chest to chest now as Q endeavors to look anywhere but into those glacial eyes. He is not ready to have this conversation.

James’s breath stirs his hair when he speaks. “You have always mattered to me.”

His silver tongue fails him as thunder crashes overhead. His breath hitches as strong arms slide around him and he can’t help but give in just a little, burying his face in the crook of James’s neck where he can smell the rain and the cold and the subtle hint of his aftershave. He catches a hint of leather as well, in spite of the jacket having been discarded near the door, and he breathes deeply. James’s t-shirt is skin warm and soft and he can’t help but twist his fingers into the fabric.

The arms around him tighten and he feels fingers glide through the hair at his nape. “Talk to me,” James urges.

Q pulls back slowly, finally allowing their eyes to meet though James keeps him close. “Take me to bed first.”

* * *

They take their time, because slow and gentle is what Q needs right now, though this is typically the opposite of what he wants. He read the report of course, but nothing could ever prepare him for seeing the damage with his own eyes. As he slowly strips him out of his clothes, each mark tells its story. All James can do to quiet the rage inside is to worship every inch of skin.

He moves over Q on the bed, pressing soft kisses to faded bruises and running his fingers over new scars. There is an especially nasty bruise still lingering around his shoulder and he takes his time here. At least until Q urges him to focus his attention elsewhere.

Q’s breathing is starting to pick up as he works his way lower, trailing kisses along his abdomen before dipping his tongue into his navel in a way that always seems to elicit a notably positive response. He’s panting as James presses a kiss to his inner thigh. He bends his knees and tilts his hips up and James knows exactly what he wants.

James works him open slowly, always relishing the sounds he can pull from him with just his fingers. He finds what he needs almost from muscle memory in a drawer beside the bed. Q’s sigh is content once James is fully inside him. He keeps the pace slow and steady for as long as they both can hold out.

Q comes with a cry as James slips a hand between them and the dueling sensations send him over the edge. James follows shortly behind.

Once James has them cleaned up, he slips back into bed beside Q and pulls him close. Calloused fingers trace idle patterns on his back and Q relaxes further, sprawled across his chest. He can feel him drifting, but a question still hangs in the air. “Tell me what happened.”

Q sighs. “I’m sure you read the report. What more do you need to know?”

James sighs. “They should have called me back in. Anyone could have handled Bolivia; this was more important.”

“M felt he had things under control,” he says flatly.

James’s answer is nearly a growl. “Then why did it take them a week to find you?”

A bright flash illuminates the room and the thunder rattles the walls this time. Below them the streetlights have gone dark. The face of the clock on the bedside table is black.

* * *

Q manages to at least pull on his pajama bottoms before stepping into the hall. He barely has his shirt over his head as he fumbles for a torch and makes his way to the breaker box. Having finally set his clothes to rights, he wrenches it open to inspect the damage.

“It’s just the storm, Q,” comes James voice from behind him. “Anyway, you’ve got the security system attached to the backup generator. We can worry about the rest in the morning.”

Q spares only a quick glance over his shoulder, noting that Bond managed to at least pull on his pants before traipsing around Q’s flat. “I thought my security needed work,” he says, returning to the task at hand.

He can hear James padding closer, though he knows that it’s only because the man wants him to. “Well, it does help when one has the access codes,” he muses.

Oh yeah. He had forgotten about that. “That was only supposed to be for emergencies,” he chides over his shoulder.

“Well, I didn’t hear you complaining earlier,” James purrs.

Q feels hands on his sides, blunt fingertips pressing into his skin just enough to command his attention. The warm breath in his ear takes on a more serious tone. “It’s alright, Q. Come back to bed.”

He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking until James reaches up to relieve him of the torch, his other arm wrapped securely around his waist.

“Besides,” he mouths against the side of his neck, “you’ve already got the best security system Her Majesty’s government has to offer right here in your bed.”

Q snorts. “Arrogant prick.” He’ll never admit that the man does have a point.

He wriggles out of his grip, taking a quick moment to confirm that the backup generator has in fact kicked in and all of his systems are operational before allowing himself to be led back to the bedroom.

James presses him gently into the bed, straddling his hips and leaning down to cover his body with his own. Q is fully prepared to go another round, content to distract himself with lazy sex. He closes his eyes as soft kisses are pressed to his throat, beneath his jaw, and then the corner of his mouth. But James stops here.

Q frowns at him as the older man pulls back. There is scrutiny in those blue eyes again.

“So, tell me,” says James. “How did it happen?”

Q shakes his head. “Can’t you just leave it alone?”

“That all depends. I may have read the report, but that doesn’t tell me anything but bare facts.” He brushes a loose curl out of his eyes. “I want to know about _you._ Are you okay?”

The question catches him off guard and he find himself at a loss for words. Psych has tried to pry so much out of him over the past couple of weeks, but they’ve only driven him to retreat further into himself. He doesn’t tell them that he can’t sleep at night, or how he’s constantly looking over his shoulder. He may have lost faith in the organization that has held his life in their hands, but he refuses to let them lose faith in him.

He likes this thing he has with Bond, even if it’s mostly physical. It works for them because they both understand the lifestyle, and how work comes first. Is he really ready for this to be something else? To expose what he hasn’t been willing to let anyone else see?

Q wriggles out from under him, sitting up with his back against the headboard. He draws his knees to his chest, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

James shifts to sit behind him, their shoulders touching. “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” he says. “Tell me what happened in your own words. Not theirs.”

* * *

There wasn’t a lot to tell, in Q’s opinion. In total, he was missing for 10 days. He was just 2 blocks from home, having taken a circuitous route back from Six as was protocol to avoid any tails. Fat lot of good it did when two men appeared out of nowhere. He felt the prick of a needle at the side of his neck before he even had a chance to call for help.

He spent the next several days in and out of consciousness between beatings and other methods of interrogation. He always woke up someplace new. Around the sixth day, they must have messed up the dose because he woke up while he was being transported to a new location. A desperate bid for freedom cost him a dislocated shoulder and a concussion. They kept him drugged on any future moves.

By the tenth day, he was sure no one was coming for him. He had no backup, no cyanide capsule like the old days, though he had always balked at the idea. Even before he knew anything about Silva. His captors weren’t getting what they wanted. They would certainly give up and kill him eventually to put an end to all the fuss. He found himself wishing they would do so sooner rather than later. He was so tired.

When Moneypenny finally kicked open the door to his cell, he thought he was hallucinating. But then she was hugging the breath out of him and another half a dozen agents were flooding into the room and he was being ushered outside and onto a helicopter.

He doesn’t remember much between there and waking up in medical. By day two he had threatened to rip the IV out himself before they finally agreed to let him go home, so long as he took some time to rest. He was back at work two days later. They threatened to throw him back in medical if he didn’t agree to work no more than 6 hours a day and have regular sessions with the resident psychologist over the next few weeks. He quickly came to understand why the double-o’s couldn’t stand the man. His methods were terribly outdated and it was clear that he didn’t much care for his position. It was high time he retired.

* * *

James chuckles at Q’s assessment of Dr. Hall and he can’t help but huff a laugh himself as a bit of the tension is broken. “Honestly, who still uses word association as a means to evaluate anything?” he says, punctuating his rant with the movement of his hands. “He’s a bloody dinosaur in the world of psychology and they’ve got to think about replacing the man if they ever want any of their agents to be remotely stable.”

James laughs. “I think that ship has sailed, Q.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

For a long moment, they sit in silence as Q picks at an imaginary loose thread in the leg of his pajamas. James has been quiet and attentive during most of his account and he keeps his silence now, waiting for Q to be the one to break it. “I just,” he sighs. “I’m not broken.”

“I know that, Q,” says James. “But you have been through a lot.” He slips an arm around his shoulders and Q leans heavily against his chest. “You can’t pretend it doesn’t affect you. Otherwise it’ll find a way to catch up to you later, when it’s even less convenient.”

“Hmm, and you’re the prime example of healthy coping mechanisms, are you?” he muses.

James pokes him in the side. “No,” he answers, “but you don’t have to be alone in this.” He buries his face in the crook of his neck, lips brushing against skin as he speaks. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Q sighs. “Don’t. It isn’t your fault. I’m sorry I said that.” He laces their fingers together as raindrops roll gently down the window panes. The thunder overhead is distant now. “But I am glad you’re here now,” he says, barely loud enough for him to hear.

James squeezes him tighter.

His drifting off again and so he barely notices as James shifts them back into a horizontal position, still holding him close to his chest. He’s vaguely aware that Turing and Pascal have returned to curl up on the end of the bed as James tries to stretch out behind him without kicking them. The clock on the table is flashing 12:00 and he hasn’t bothered to set an alarm on his phone, but he decides that that’s fine. They can do without him in the office tomorrow. He’s finally going to get some sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not thrilled with the ending, but I've been staring at it for way too long at this point, lol. Let me know what you think and hopefully this will be the end of my lengthy hiatus! (No Time To Die, anyone?? :D)


End file.
